


Concentration Slip Away

by Magnetism_bind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Drinking, Fight Sex, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Charlestown, Rough Sex, Slight Emotional Manipulation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, mention of Silver/Flint, season 2 fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:59:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12818046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: After Charlestown, Flint needs something to distract himself from his grief and finds it in from an unexpected source.





	Concentration Slip Away

Flint hears the door open before he can bark out an order to leave him the fuck alone. He doesn’t know who would be so bold enough to invade his privacy now when he needs it the most. The only man who’s dared to do that recently is lying below in the hold, bloodied, wounded and unconscious. The only woman who would dare is dead.

His eyes close in desperation and he reaches again for the bottle of rum on the desk. The stench of smoke and ash won’t leave his nostrils. He can see the flames even with his eyes are closed, can see her pale face even now. How has it come to this?

“I thought you might be at this stage.”

The rasp of the man’s voice draws Flint somewhat to his senses. Of course. He should have known. He opens his eyes to see Charles Vane standing there before him, watching him, one thumb tucked in the loop of his belt.

“What the fuck do you want?”

“A thank you might be nice.” Vane cocks his head and looks around his cabin. “I did save you back there.”

It’s true. And possibly Flint would have been willing, perhaps even grateful to share a drink with the man if circumstances had been different. As it is, he can barely think for the pounding in his brain, the guilt eating at him. The rage is close to swallowing him and he needs…his fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle.

“Then again I already told you once.” Vane says almost nonchalantly.

Flint takes a long slow swig from the bottle and sits back. “Told me what?” He wants Vane to be gone, he wants to sit here and drink until he falls into a stupor and the night is dark around him.

“I told you, if anyone were going to make a trophy out of you, it should be me.” Vane grins, almost lazily.

Flint’s hand twitches. His sword is on the wall. His dagger in his boot. His pistol on the desk.

Vane catches him eying it and chuckles. “Not that sort of trophy.” He moves to lean on the edge of the desk and now Flint is confused enough to let him.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re lost right now.” Vane says. “And ordinarily I’d be the last person you’d turn to, but as it stands right now you don’t have anyone else, do you?”

Flint swallows tightly. He forces himself to take another even swig from the bottle before he answers. They have a truce for the moment; it won’t do any good if he smashes Vane’s head in with the bottle. “Is there a point to all of this?”

“Your man down there, the curly-haired one with the mouth,” Vane says and Flint again finds himself eyeing his pistol, not sure where Vane is going with this. “He’s the one you’d be leaning on now. If he were upright, that is.”

“ _Your_ men-” Flint starts. He doesn’t have words for the anger inside him when he thinks of what happened to Silver, on top of his grief over Miranda. He hardly has any words at all now. He’s beyond words in a rageful, gasping fathomless sea of blackness.

“I didn’t give the order for that.” Vane tells him. “If I had, I wouldn’t be here. I know what he means to you.”

Flint finds that hard to believe since _he_ doesn’t know what the fuck Silver means to him yet. He’s not prepared to deal with it right now. Not yet. Not tonight. He takes another drink, watching the way Vane’s body language is completely relaxed, leaning there against his desk. The escape from Charlestown has left no effect on Vane whatsoever, but then he didn’t lose anyone in the rubble and ash of that place.

“But I didn’t.” Vane continues. He slides around the desk until he’s right in front of Flint. He reaches for the bottle and Flint lets him, watching him take a drink from it. “And I know what it’s like to be standing in the place you are, needing something to take your mind off matters.”

“Is that so?” Flint grabs for the bottle again and tilts it back once more. He takes a long generous swallow of it, letting his eyes close for half a second.

When he opens them again, Vane has his cock out.

For a moment Flint’s frozen with the bottle to his lips and then he lowers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he watches Vane stroke his cock slowly, watching him with hooded eyes.

“Tell me truthfully,” Vane says, “Your blood’s up, your mind’s racing, you just want something to make you lose track of time, and if that one,” his head jerks towards the door, indicating Silver, “if he were here, you’d be thinking of letting him, wouldn’t you?”

Flint tilts the bottle back. He’s not prepared for even a vague outline of this conversation with Silver; he’s certainly not going to have it with Vane of all people.

Vane smirks. “So you’re not ready to get off with him. Fine. He never has to know any thought you give him in this moment.” His hand slides down the full thick length of his cock and Flint’s eyes follow the action whether he wants to or not. “But I’m _here._ I survived Charlestown too and I want a thank you for coming to rescue your stubborn hide.”

Flint leans back in his chair, gazing up at him. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting we fuck.” Vane says crudely. He reaches for the bottle and again Flint lets him take it, watching the way he drinks, the sleek swallowing motion of his throat before he sets the bottle down on the desk again. “We’re allies for the time being and if we can’t take advantage of that sort of unique relationship as Jack would say, then what the fuck is the point?”

Flint strokes his beard, pretending he’s giving himself time to think before he tosses Vane out on his ass. He’s not considering this; he’s not, and yet he already knows he is. He does need something to distract himself from the fact that he can’t fucking do anything more right now. The remnants of Charlestown are burning behind him. Silver’s still being tended by Howell in the hold. He can’t turn back time and give Silver back his leg; he can’t bring Miranda back to life. He can’t do a fucking thing to help anyone, not tonight.

He eyes Vane’s cock and thinks how long it’s been since he’s let himself be close with someone, let himself touch someone. And Vane’s right…if Silver were here tonight in his cabin, if Silver were here with him in this frame of mind… Flint doesn’t want to face that right now. It’s not safe to let himself dwell on where that road with Silver would lead, so instead he imagines it with Vane. There’s no risk of anything more with Vane; he’s never going to wonder where he and Vane lead. In a strange way, a night with Vane would be safe.

Vane doesn’t push, simply waits, and maybe that’s what finally tips him over the edge.

“When you say fuck.” Flint pauses, letting the word slide over his tongue, lets it settle. “What precisely do you want?”

“I want to fuck you.” Vane says bluntly. “I want you to suck my dick until it’s hard and ready for you, and then I want to fuck you until you forget everything that happened today.” He reaches for the bottle, taking another swig. “That hold any appeal for you, captain?”

His use of Flint’s title is mocking as hell, but there’s a certain lewd allure in it and Flint finds himself responding to it before he even knows he’s truly made up his mind. He stands, looming over Vane for a moment before he takes the bottle from him. He lets himself have a final swig, and then he sets it down.

Vane’s sitting there, on the edge of the desk, waiting, watching him.

This is the moment where Flint tells him to get out of the cabin or he gives in. It’s a lengthy moment and he can’t help looking at Vane’s cock again.

He goes slowly to his knees.

There’s the faintest shadow of surprise in Vane’s expression and that gives Flint all the encouragement he needs. Vane didn’t fully expect him to go through with this. That almost makes it easy.

He sets his hands on Vane’s thighs, appreciating the hard muscle contained in the rough material under his fingers and leans in. It’s been so long since he touched a man like this; it almost overwhelms him and he thinks again on Vane’s words _. If he were here, you’d be thinking of letting him, wouldn’t you?_

It’s true, even if Flint’s not ready to admit it. He licks deliberately around the head of Vane’s dick, letting it swell on the tip of his tongue. The salt taste of him, the scent of Vane’s musk draws him in.

Vane lets out a faint grunt as Flint slides him slowly inside his mouth.

For a moment his hands give pause to this moment between them and then his right hand moves to curl thickly through Flint’s hair.

“There.” Vane purrs. “Come on and suck it.”

There’s a moment where Flint wants to resist. This is all a game, Vane just wants the upper hand, but when he flicks a glance upwards there’s no gloating in the other man’s eyes. Just the heated satisfaction that exists when you’re letting go and giving in to your desires. That look Flint knows all too well.

He relaxes his throat, breathing deeply and takes Vane further.

Vane offers another grunt of surprise and his fingers card loosely through Flint’s hair. “Yeah, just like that.” He murmurs. “I always thought you’d be a good fuck.”

There’s no insult in his words, Flint realizes. Just a blunt stating of fact. This is neither insult nor compliment to Vane; just a simple fact. Flint finds himself almost reassured by this understanding. He lets his hands slide more loosely along Vane’s thighs, sucking him deeper.

He’s missed this. He enjoys the weight of another man’s cock on his tongue. He enjoys the taste and the feel and the pressure. He wants…fuck, he wants to be fucked. And tonight he’s going to get it apparently. If Vane keeps his side of the bargain, if Flint doesn’t give in to the vague worry at the back of his mind that says to end this before it becomes a trap. If he simply lets it happen, it will happen.

He wraps a hand around Vane’s length and pulls off, surveying it, flushed and thick and ready.

“Good enough?”

“Mmm.” Vane shrugs. “It’ll do.” He leans further back against the desk. “I take it you have oil somewhere.”

Flint nods.

“Fetch it then.” Vane scoops up the bottle and takes a drink.

Slowly Flint rises to his feet, feeling Vane’s gaze follow him as he goes.

Fresh oil procured, he turns back to see Vane still watching him. Flint has an idea of how this could go, and he’s still not ready to relinquish all control yet. He moves back over to the desk and sets the oil down.

He lowers his breeches and dips his fingers in the oil. Vane’s still drinking, watching him from the other side of the desk and Flint takes a perverse pleasure in the heat in the man’s eyes as he slides slick fingers inside himself.

It’s going to ache no matter what he does; it’s been too long. But he stretches himself well enough and then raises an eyebrow at Vane. “Well?”

Vane moves around the desk and steps between his legs. He looks down at his own cock, waiting for it. “Well go on then.”

Flint wraps oiled fingers around his shaft, sliding his fist all the way to the base of Vane’s cock.

Vane sucks in a breath and smirks at him. “You’ve got good hands.” He takes another drink.

Flint tilts his head, looking at him, not really acknowledging the comment one way or another. He doesn’t care what Vane thinks of his hands. The heat of Vane’s shaft under his fist is intoxicating. He releases it and steps back.

Vane simply follows him. He grips Flint by the shirt and pulls him close, bringing their mouths together for a violent, bruising kiss. Flint tastes blood and rum on Vane’s tongue, lust and violence stirring deeply within him. He feels his own cock react before shoving hard at Vane’s chest.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Claiming a kiss.” Vane reaches for him again. “Don’t tell me you don’t kiss, a gentleman like you?” His hand curls tightly in Flint’s shirt. “Come on, you fuck. Kiss me.”

Flint growls and reaches for him.

They stumble backward, hitting the wall while they kiss, messy and wild in the heat of their desire. It’s half embrace, half fight as they move together, and they wind up on the floor where they’ve been before, but this time, Flint’s on top, straddling Vane’s hips, panting with exertion as he gazes down at the man below him.

Vane licks his lips and opens his mouth to offer some tease, some inducement, some comment that Flint will either let fly or fucking punch him and he doesn’t want to hear any of it. So he simply positions himself and sinks down upon Vane’s cock, causing the other man to groan loudly.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” Vane mutters. His fingers dig into Flint’s hips, holding him on his hips, “Christ, Flint…”

“Shut the fuck up.” Flint snarls down at him. He doesn’t want to hear another word cross Vane’s lips. He just wants this; he doesn’t want to hear Vane’s thoughts on the act.

Vane grins and rolls them over abruptly.

It’s Flint’s turn to groan as his back hits the floor hard. Vane leans over him, his breath hot on Flint’s cheek. “I can stay quiet, but you’re gonna know it’s me fucking you and not that curly-haired cook of yours.” He grips Flint’s thighs and thrusts back inside before Flint can say another word.

Flint’s teeth sink into his lower lip as Vane thrusts, and yes, _fuck,_ this is what he needs. He ignores the words Vane just uttered and settles for wrapping his legs tightly around Vane’s hips, his body urging Vane’s on in wordless hunger.

Tomorrow he’ll feel this, tomorrow he’ll regret it, but now, this is filling his mind and he wants it, Vane’s cock driving into him, his body so close Flint can smell him, Vane’s body in motion, Flint’s hands moving over his muscled frame. No less violent than their previous encounters, but somehow welcoming this time in spite of the brutal force in the joining of their bodies.

Vane snakes a hand between them, stroking Flint’s cock and Flint half strangles his shout as he comes, but the noise escapes him all the same and Vane’s expression is one of intense satisfaction as he finishes, spilling hot inside Flint. Taking satisfaction in that act too, no doubt.

Flint lets himself lie there on the floor for a moment as Vane slides out of him. He waits for the inevitable remark, the comment that will make his hands curl into fists and end this on a violent note, one of them even more bloody than from the earlier battle.

Instead Vane pushes himself to his feet, half clutching his breeches around his waist as he reaches again for the bottle of rum.

“Is that it?” Flint inquires before he can stop himself.

Vane props his ass against his desk and tilts the bottle back. “You came, didn’t you? What more do you want?”

Flint has to acknowledge he doesn’t know what more he wants. He just thought it would be different with Vane.

Vane shrugs and takes a long drink. “Fuck, I needed that.”

Flint moves behind his desk, reaching for a cloth to wipe the seeping oil from his thighs. He wants a bath. He wants Vane to be gone and to never speak of this. He wants…his eyes fall upon the table in the corner of the cabin, the spots of blood still lingering upon the table, on the floor.

Blindly, he draws up his breeches and turns to find Vane watching him.

“Here.” Vane holds out the bottle and Flint takes it without a word. He lets the rum flow over his tongue and refuses to let the sight of that bloodied table settle anywhere in his mind. He has no need of any more ghosts and anyway, Silver is living yet.

Vane does up his own breeches with languid fingers. He accepts the bottle for one final draft and sets it back down on the desk. “Next time you need that urge scratched, I suggest you come find me.”

“What makes you think I’d ever do that?” Flint scoffs.

Vane grins. “Cause you’re not ready to admit you want to fuck him.” He grips Flint by the back of the neck and kisses him once, hard and hungry, leaving Flint’s pulse racing and his lips stinging, before he pulls back.

“I’ll say goodnight then.” Vane murmurs and heads for the door.

Flint lets him get to the door before he throws the bottle after him. Vane may be right on the nature of desire and the right moment to play his hand, but that doesn’t mean he’s right about anything else here.

He goes to the open window, sinking down on the window seat, needing the fresh air.  He closes his eyes, letting the night wash over him. This day is nearly done and the night will pass, and tomorrow, and the day after that. Somehow…some way….he’ll survive this. For now, Flint lets the physical effects of what happened overtake him, letting the exhaustion carry him away as he slowly he succumbs to sleep. There is time enough to face the world again tomorrow.


End file.
